Chikara Dasu
by kinmik
Summary: A series of one shots, based on a quote-prompt meme. UPDATE: Inhibition \ Luffy in Impel Down. Because there is no greater power than that of bonds.
1. Proposals

**Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of One Piece and any pertaining characters. Rights belong strictly to Oda Eiichiro and Toei.**

* * *

**.....It's a song, a short song, all I can offer......**

"Become my nakama!"

They had had no previously existing reason to follow a young, impetuous, gluttonous, rubber devil fruit user. But he was also strong, earnest, brave, and so full of life.

So whomever it was that this boy captain had found, and nurtured, and loved, and gathered under his Jolly Roger looked upon his back as he stood confidently on the figurehead of this tiny ship sailing over these vast seas, they knew that nothing he had to offer them, just maybe, wasn't so small after all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: this 34 piece quote meme is taken from a japanese one piece fansite, managed by kurosaki eto. if you would like the site address (she does wonderful fiction), please e-mail me. also, this is a meme, meaning that anyone can take inspiration from these prompts. i encourage you to do so!


	2. Maximum Momentum

**To be born into this earth is to be born into uncongenial surroundings, hence to be born into a peace**

The Age of Pirates.

All save for three of their number had entered the world in the midst of a great upheaval in power. Those three had observed the rise of a new era, even as the Pirate King fell, and though not directly witness to his death, the ripples of anarchy spread outward, a catalyst for all.

The world grew colder as men fell to avarice, intent on the promise of the World's Treasure. The old men sitting in their subdued, smoky pubs with their shot glasses of amber retention would lament the passing of days and recount those with brighter horizons.

However, somewhere a man with ostentatiously red hair was creating ripples of his own; extending his hand, placing a weathered straw hat on the head of a sobbing young boy. The waves spread outward from that time and place, only gathering in momentum and force, from Fuchsia Village to Shell Town to Gecko Island to the Floating Restaurant Baratie and Konomi Island in East Blue to Drum Kingdom to Enies Lobby to Water 7 and Thriller Bark set deep within the Grand Line.

In the midst of a world of strife, they found each other and the intangible peace that had long been labelled illusory.


	3. Raison D'être

**Man has to pick up the use of his functions as he goes along, especially the function of that**

"Naa… Tom-san…"

The large fishman left a half-moon of vapor hanging in the wake of his breath in the crisp air as he turned to face his youngest protégé, eyes quizzically amused. While Franky displayed astonishingly little control over his mouth during mealtimes, bath times, break time and generally at all times, it was rare that he should initiate a conversation while they worked.

"What is it? Franky."

The boy in question looked up at the hulking form of his teacher through wide, clear blue eyes that sparked with indomitable life, mirroring his personality, and asked, "Why do you laugh so much?"

Barely a heartbeat had passed before Tom was rejoining, "'Why?'" His tone was that of a person who was rationalizing the obvious. "I have no need of a reason in order to laugh." Franky held his silence, trusting Tom to explain further. "The reason we build ships is because there are people who love the sea, even with its many dangers." Here he threw out an arm, indicating the shipyard. The hulls of the ruined ships were covered with a sleety sheen of snow as they lay broken and scattered, an aide memoire to former grandeur encased in ice.

Tom continued. "The reason this city exists is because there are people who love each other, who are willing to work together to make something of it, no matter the uphill struggle." Tom lay a large, heavy, webbed hand on Franky's narrow shoulder, causing him to unbalance slightly as the legendary shipwright's voice boomed out over the scrap island, echoing off wood and iron and over the water. "No matter your endeavor, as long as you take pride in it, see it through to the end with a don!"

He glanced down at Franky with a toothy grin, the lines etched on his face a testament to each year he had toiled under the sun. "Everything I do here, all the time I spend with you and Iceburg and Kokoro and Yokozuna fills my heart with such joy, if it doesn't find some way of showing itself, I'd feel as if I was doing you all a discredit. So, I laugh, the way a real man should."

Franky thought on this for a moment as he turned Tom's words over in his mind, his eyebrows drawing lower and lower with each second of silence. "But then…Tom-san… You just gave me the reason why you laugh so much. Didn't you?"

Tom's laughter could be heard clear across Water 7 that day.


	4. Pacific

greetings! i'd just like to get this off my chest: this particular piece was **so hard **to write! i was caught between zoroxluffy and iceburgxfranky, two pairings i really can't get enough of. i actually didn't want to do two tom's workers stories in a row, but when i tried to write zolu, it got two feet off the ground and promptly burst into flames. it's still smoldering on my desk... i do apologize to any who are looking foward to captain and first mate, and i will get around to them once i find an appropriate prompt for them.  
thank you!

once again, i don't own one piece or any other of oda eiichiro's characters.

* * *

**For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love**

"There." Iceburg released Franky's ankle and sat back on his hands, sighing wearily. He had spent the last hour and a half squatting in various and increasingly uncomfortable positions from his seat on the floor as he salved and bandaged Franky's latest consignment of burns, scrapes, and bruises, sustained from Battle Franky God-knows-what-numerate after its uniflow engine had decided to instantaneously explode.

Iceburg reached for the roll of bandages, replacing it into the box it had come from and fixing the fifteen-year-old sitting on the sofa above him with a severe stare. "Nmaa…it's not the best or prettiest job, but it'll be effective. I'm not Kokoro-san after all." He had no idea why he felt the need to justify himself for his honestly crude attempt at first aid.

Franky, who had remained uncharacteristically still over the duration of his impromptu hospice cast a jaundiced eye over Iceburg's handiwork. "How effective?"

"Effective _enough_. Stop griping."

The younger of the two ran a hand tentatively down his linen-bound leg, frowning when he tried to bend his knee.

""Ah.""

Both young men froze as the sharp, brief sound of tearing fabric rent the air.

"…! Bakanky, you—!"

"Don't blame me! You're supposed to leave some slack around my knee!? S'not my fault you have no skills worth mentioning _whatsoever_ outside shipbuilding, and just so you know, your bedside manner sucks!"

Franky had finally worn down Iceburg's daily allotment of Stupid Tolerance, and the latter responded by gracefully tackling him down into the lumpy sofa like a sack of potatoes.

"OWoww~!! Gerroffame!"

"Shut up!"

"Let go! What's the matter with you!?"

"_You're_ the problem! I don't have the faintest idea how I manage to put up with you day in and day out with your slacking off and your disrespect and stupidity and _are you biting me_!!?"

They had finally settled down into a state of mild chaos, with various limbs tangled and fabric bunched into uncomfortable places and Franky's bandages starting to come undone when Iceburg took advantage of the lull to mumble half-heartedly, "…And if it's a question of skill, you're not much better off than me."

"Why do you have to call me out on every little thing I say?"

"Shut up. Shut up shut up shutupshutupshut_up_." Iceburg punctuated each verbal reprimand growled out through gritted teeth by butting his forehead against Franky's with generous force, which turned out to be a slightly unfortunate occurrence for the recipient of his hostility, as that part of his anatomy had also managed to sustain injury previously in the day.

His eyes watering, Franky was momentarily stunned into involuntary silence as he clutched his abused forehead and glared at the man above him with an expression that clearly wished him a world of hurt.

Iceburg paused to regain his breath,  
counted to five,  
opened his mouth,  
thought better of it,  
closed it,  
looked into Franky's eyes…

And just gave up.

He sank like a deflating balloon onto Franky's chest, all the tension and anger built up inside him dissipating like drops of water under the sun.

Franky watched him through large, ephebic eyes, his expression open and quiescent. He found himself on the verge of biting out a perfunctorily insinuating remark when he caught sight of Iceburg's hair contrasted sharply against the stark white of the fabric binding his torso. His gaze slid fluidly down to his bare shoulders, following the lines of muscle that were then interrupted by mazarine tattoos. He had always liked them, ever since Iceburg had decided to get them, though he'd be damned if he ever told him so.

He felt those arms burrowing between his back and the cushions, tugging him closer and squeezing him around his middle, firm enough to admonish, gentle enough to get his other message across.

Franky released a soft, slow breath through his nose as he settled down.

Funny, it seemed the only time they ever understood each other wasn't when they were snarling or clawing at each other, but when they shut up and didn't do anything at all…except _be_.


	5. Modus Operandi

**You've just got into the habit of loving**

It had been surreptitious, stealing into his bloodstream like liquor and working its way to his brain. Following the general tenets of most inebriants, he only became aware of it when he found himself hopelessly besotted by its effects, and only halfway acknowledged it when everyone else told him so.

Which was just absurd, really, because how could he himself have not realized that he was under the influence of such a thing so axiomatic?

It was only as he watched the great ship fade into nothing at the horizon's edge that he appreciated all that he had had with his greatest and only friend.

It was as he rang the bell every day after, sending out its clarion resonance and his own message with it over land and sea, that he understood exactly the magnitude of his own innervations.

It was as he struck down all in his path for the sake of Shandora that he came to recognize the love he had failed to convey. It was not the love he felt towards his wife and daughter, for that was an innate competency, a faculty learned from one's own parents. Nor the love of country and people, for that was something learned through duty and altruism. It was elusive, mercurial…

Finally, it was as he sunk to his knees, the color bleeding from his surroundings and the felled, scattered bodies of comrades and adversaries, sound washing out beneath the slowing cadence of his own pulse; he found himself smiling. Smiling and content with the knowledge that he had not completely put to waste the life granted to him, had willingly shared it. Smiling, almost as if to the spite the tears spilling unchecked down his face, the cold seeping with mercenary tendrils into a body broken and subjugated.

He understood, then, as he lost himself in the deep azure stretched high above him (or was it below? he could no longer distinguish the difference), why humans found it so important to make bonds. It was easy to declare a thing such as 'I am here', but with no one to testify to the fact, it held no meaning.

What kind of life would it be to live if it wasn't a shared existence?

To live and to love were synonymous. No one had told him it could be so addictive…and so hard to let go.

* * *

**'Д '**. just **'Д '**. this was absolute _torture_. it's 2 in the morning. it's also gotta be my fourth 2 in the morning i spent working on this and thank god it's done and up.  
i hope i haven't slandered the will of d by having him smile in the face of his death...


	6. Cataclysm of a Lie

**I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street **

He was cold.

The downpour left nothing dry, having started nearly two hours before and not ceasing since; a fervid rush of rainwater pounded down the middle of the concaved cobblestone-paved street. He walked alongside it; his companion trailing behind splashed heedlessly through it, hands deep in his pockets and head bowed as if in solemn rumination: he looked to be as numb as he felt.

And yet, this was a summer deluge, and it was far warmer than most showers he had experienced out on the open ocean. His very bones seemed chilled, his skin hardly registering the heavy drops, oblivious as they ran down in rivulets, dripping from his fingers and the brim of his hat, ignoring the heavy pull of waterlogged clothing.

He glanced back at his friend for what felt like the hundredth time, and Buggy made an exaggerated step, splashing the back of his legs with water, to show that he had if not at least seen, then he had felt Shanks' eyes upon him. The red-haired teen smiled sadly, felt his contracted eyebrows relax minutely in spite of himself, in spite of what they had just witnessed, and turned back to the deserted street stretched before him.

He had reunited with Buggy by chance close to a month prior, and the two had traveled to their mutual destination together. He had seen other former crew members there; had raised an acknowledging hand in salute to superiors, had had drunken, raucous, melancholy soirees with comrades and peers that had lasted until the crack of dawn. The only person who appeared to be absent was Master Rayleigh. Anyone he had asked concerning The First Mate simply dismissed it with a blithe shrug, or a stern "Leave it." Shanks discovered in hindsight that the latter usually followed a furtive glance between the supplier and an equal higher-up. It had fed anger that had deliberately been building up for over a year, since the declaration of the disbanding of the Jolly Rogers, and that had only recently simmered down into a mild irritation at the back of his consciousness, like an itch he couldn't scratch.

Now he couldn't feel anything, and was almost thankful for it. His mind had been in turmoil, seeing his former captain kneeling on the towering belvedere, the man he had admired, endeavored to emulate, had come to love like a father, now suppressed and subdued, almost a shadow of his former self. Then he had raised his head and smiled, spoke in a voice like honed steel, and Shanks knew, as did every person in that common, exactly why he had been called the Pirate _King_. He addressed them like a ruler from his dais and they realized then that none of his glory had been displaced.

The blades on either side of him flashed, the skies opened up, the din from the gathered crowd grew tumultuous, and Shanks knew not whether he should weep for a reprehensible death or celebrate a life well lived.

So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice that the sloshing footfalls behind him had stopped.

"Buggy?"

He himself didn't stop, but turned and continued to walk backwards, though at a slower pace than he had previously been progressing with. He hoped to get away from this awful town, from the memories it now contained, and if possible, to not discuss what had taken place there for a very, very long time.

With his eyes on his friend, he saw his mouth move, but couldn't quite catch what had been said over the pelting rain.

"Can't hear you," he called. He may not have been able to understand what Buggy said next, but Shanks definitely caught the rude hand gesture he flung his way before he stalked over to him, closing the distance between them with a stony look on his painted face.

Shanks could feel a bit of his old conviviality reviving as he grinned crookedly, perhaps provoking Buggy further as he growled with increasing menace, "I said, I'm thinking of starting my own pirate crew." They continued side by side now, weaving their way through the seemingly endless tangle of streets and side alleys, knowing the way out of the town but unsure of how long it would take before they would be free of its confines.

"Alright then." Shanks left this affirmation open-ended, leaving it to Buggy if he wanted to simply state his intent and leave it at that, or that he could further elaborate upon it, which he did.

"I want to create a crew that will help me realize my dream, that will follow my every order without question," here, Shanks frowned, but kept his silence golden and his gaze straight as Buggy continued, "that won't be afraid of anything, and of course, they have to be strong." Upon saying the last word, he looked directly at the profile of his companion, who didn't return the stare.

After a moment of heavy silence in which the volume of the falling rain and approaching thunder seemed magnified tenfold, Buggy offered in a voice quite unlike his own, "I want you to be my first mate." They had stopped walking now; the two of them were standing facing each other in a narrow street that split off from the main road into the town: they could see the weathered sign bearing its name through the mounting gloom. The clouds were getting darker, lower even as the rain beat its relentless tattoo on the roofs of the buildings around them.

Shanks sighed, his shoulders sagging with a new, premature weight. He reached up and clumsily scratched between his lip and nose, then rubbed across it with the side of his hand, feeling reemerging stubble sandpaper coarse against his knuckles. When had he last shaved anyway? Didn't seem to matter much—damn thing always grew back with inexorable speed.

"Buggy…I can't."

"Hah?"

"I can't," he repeated, slightly louder. "Can't join you."

Anger was being written into his crewmate's features even as he looked up into them.

"I'm sorry."

Buggy took a step back as if the apology offended him. "Well, why the hell not?"

"We're too different, you and I. Master Rayleigh always said so. I think—"

"Who cares what that old shit says?!" Buggy cut across him, tone and color rising with each syllable. "Aren't we pirates?! It's our job to not care what others think!"

Now Shanks could feel his own ire intensifying, a latent creature coiling to life in his chest, particularly after the disparagement of his respected mentor. "If it's going to cost us more than we're willing to lose later on, I'd rather not spend my pirating life under your thumb!"

"I—what's that supposed to mean?!"

"I thought we went through this already! More than three years ago!"

Buggy seemed to have lost his voice; he looked stricken, and Shanks thought he knew what he was going through: he felt penned and trapped in this tiny place, sound pushing oppressively against him on all sides, now realizing that he was losing the person who had gone through most of what he had in almost the exact amount of time, perhaps even more as Buggy was now a hammer.

"Buggy…please…" His voice sounded pitiful even to him, and he fought to lose the pleading edge in his voice bordering panic. "Come with me!"

This appeared to snap the other out of it, if not something within him, as he heard the unspoken implication contained in the request.

"Forget it! You go your way, and I mine! We'll become captains of our own crews!" There was indisputable challenge in this statement, and Shanks almost smiled with the pure nostalgia of it. For a while he said nothing, staring at the myriad of ripples at his feet, almost making out his own reflection, and beyond it, Buggy's, looking agitated and fierce.

"All right," he said at length. "Okay. We'll both become captains, and then—" He couldn't say it, wasn't quite so sure if he wanted to, wasn't even sure of the words he was to say, but Buggy understood all the same.

"Yeah…"

Together, they walked until they were beneath the arched, painted sign. A roll of thunder, and they looked at each other before setting off in separate directions from the place in which the life of the man who had brought them together had begun and ended.

* * *

**A/N:** this one took me completely by surprise. i wasn't even trying to write tonight. i thought to scribble down a line that had popped into my head and thought was appropriate for this one, and before i knew it, it took off. this is my longest, but it was by far, my easiest. i like how it turned out, but was a little too shounen-ai-ish. i like these two, but not... well...yeah.


	7. Inhibition

happy new year, fanfictioneers! i'm not dead, i swear. this chapter is suitable as ace's birthday was on the first.

* * *

**......Child, you are travelling towards the lands of sudden death.....**

They told him it was impossible. Urged him to rethink his decision, scoffed and jeered at what they considered a fool's errand. Insisted it was nothing short of suicidal. They didn't know the things he did, however.

They hadn't had that piece of paper handed to them accompanied by welcome assurances of their next meeting, only to pull it out again to find that one of his worst fears was being realized. They hadn't received the blow of the news as he had, nor seen how drastically the vivrecard had decreased in size since its last appearance. Most importantly, they didn't know him as _he_ did.

"A devil of the sea."

"Fire Fist."

"Second Lieutenant of the Whitebeard Crew."

"A nakama."

They could not know what it was to call him "Brother." They never would. That was the entire reason why he would give his all, to the extent of his life, to see him safe outside of those walls. Enduring Hell in all its inundating, terrible glory, he would find Ace and fulfill a promise made.


End file.
